


the living transcend

by cleopatraslibrary



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Buzzfeed Unsolved Supernatural, First Kiss, Ghosts, Haunted House, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions but they're both ineloquent and stupid, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:21:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27321130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleopatraslibrary/pseuds/cleopatraslibrary
Summary: Breath hitched, and body trembling, Ryan stared at the musty ceiling of the attic with an intent focus on the paint peeled paneling. The air was thick and cold, and there was a pressure on the other end of the room, near the window, like someone was sitting next to it.Ryan could imagine him with ease: when the house was in its’ prime, a young man sat against the windowsill, his leg propped up with an arm around his knee, staring contently outside at the pasture. The room was well lit by the buttery sunlight of the morning and the room was littered with small decorations, and full wool blankets, and rickety furniture. He was probably happy; at least, that’s what Ryan hoped.He blinked slowly, and the visage was gone, leaving in its place the heavy weight of death, despair, and dusty boxes cluttering where any semblance of a bedroom had now gone. The golden rays are grey and black, and the living had transcended.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73
Collections: Skeptic Believer Book Club Hallowe'en Fic Exchange 2020





	the living transcend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blacktofade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktofade/gifts).



Breath hitched, and body trembling, Ryan stared at the musty ceiling of the attic with an intent focus on the paint peeled paneling. The air was thick and cold, and there was a pressure on the other end of the room, near the window, like someone was sitting next to it.

Ryan could imagine him with ease: when the house was in its’ prime, a young man sat against the windowsill, his leg propped up with an arm around his knee, staring contently outside at the pasture. The room was well lit by the buttery sunlight of the morning and the room was littered with small decorations, and full wool blankets, and rickety furniture. He was probably happy; at least, that’s what Ryan hoped.

He blinked slowly, and the visage was gone, leaving in its place the heavy weight of death, despair, and dusty boxes cluttering where any semblance of a bedroom had now gone. The golden rays are grey and black, and the living had transcended.

Ryan adjusted his grip on the GoPro and swung it around, walking slowly through the maze of boxes and covered furniture, getting close looks at the dust. He needed to say something, for the content, but his tongue felt like it was glued to the roof of his mouth – it felt wrong to disrupt the quiet, tense air.

Quiet was not good content.

Breathing out heavily through his nose, he switched the spirit box on, wincing as the static echoed around the room.

“Hey there,” he said, his eyes darting around the room, looking for any sign of movement. “So what I have here is a, uh, spirit box. Anybody should be able to– or, I guess I should say anybody dead, huh.” He swallowed. “Yeah, let’s maybe– Take two this,” he said, glancing around nervously. The spirit box was putting him off, making him even more skittish. There wasn’t even any meaningful sound coming through it, or botched words or faulty radio signals.

Fuck it. He turned it off and started again.

“Hi, my name is Ryan. You, you might’ve heard me before, when I was downstairs with my friend?”

Shane had been a bit more respectful in his ghost pestering, for once. His bits had stayed less away from the ghouls brutally and gorily murdering him, and more towards making fun of Ryan flinching at every noise he heard. He couldn’t say he minded too much; Shane’s soothing presence couldn’t be replicated by Teej, or any of the other skeptics on staff, and his jokes relieved him more than he wanted Shane to know.

But now, even though he was by himself, he knew he wasn’t alone.

Ryan pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he tried to clock how long he’d been in there. Probably only a minute or so – he had thirteen left to try to communicate with the dead.

Or not. He could just sit here. Wait for something to happen.

For a second, he wished he would just get pushed over, collapse into a bunch of boxes, make a mess and prove once and for all ghosts not only existed, but had ill intent. Then he thought of that same young man from before, up against the windowsill, blond hair bright against the sunlight, eyes shining and lively as he laughed about some inane thing that happened the day before.

If his ghost was here, he wouldn’t want to hurt Ryan.

A sharp pain went through his head, right in the center of his forehead; right where he usually got migraines. It didn’t linger, but it was just enough to put him back on edge as he weaved through some more of the boxes, towards that window he kept thinking about.

“I’m here to ask you what happened, mainly; the people who live here now, they claim the attic is the most haunted area of the house and that Gracie, their daughter, saw you up here. Can you give me any sign you’re here?”

–

The story went like this:

The Lovenduskis were a family of twelve. Two parents, ten children, and only one home with three bedrooms; four, once the attic was remodeled.

Ernie was the eldest child by a wide margin. Where the age gap between most of the children was a year or two, Ernie was twenty one, and Eleanor, the second eldest, was fifteen.

Ernie learnt quickly what responsibility meant, and how to take care of the house. As soon as he was able, he went to work building bridges hundreds of feet up, earning money only to support his family, while his parents worked on the farm.

According to his own personal diaries, he didn’t mind.

 _I could very easily rid myself of their burden,_ he wrote one day, _but I can’t find it in me to want to leave. I love them dearly, even if Tom tries to steal my tools, or Wilbur my spare change. I’ll let Tom bang uselessly against a horseshoe and turn a blind eye to Wilbur’s quick fingers._

Tragedy struck, when their parents went missing.

In the small town, the word had spread fast, and the rumors faster. The fire didn’t dampen until they were both found dead in the next city over a week later.

The Lovenduskis were a family of ten, then, when Ernie was only twenty three. He taught George how to run the household, and sold half of their acres to feed the youngins.

He remained hopeful, and he grew older, his siblings all finding their own passions and wants in the world.

Ernie was thirty when he met his demise against packed pavement. His harness had been cut, but no one was ever arrested or suspected for his murder.

Eleanor took responsibility for the children, caring for them tenderly as they all grew up. From the day he died to her own final moments, she swore Ernie remained in the attic he built himself, taking care of the house when no one else could.

–

It was quiet, the floorboards hardly creaking as Ryan stepped closer and closer to the windowsill. The room must’ve been impressive once; he didn’t think any of the original occupants of the house would have wanted it to be like this.

“Is anyone here?” he asked again, taking a wide look around with the GoPro. Nothing moved; the only sound in the attic was Ryan’s blood pounding in his ears. “I’m going to turn on the spirit box. You can use it to try to communicate with me, or to send a message out, or– you know. Something. Um.”

He mentally prepared himself as flicked it on and let out an even breath as the static echoed throughout the room. It was a little less uniform this time, patches of audio coming through every so often as he made his way closer to the window. He might’ve had better reception, or something, but–

“Do you spend a lot of time up here, by the window?” Ryan asked. He went silent for a moment, listening intently, before continuing, “Gracie said that she saw you sitting up here by yourself. Your laughter had drawn her attention and that when you noticed her, you vanished. The only reason why her story gained as much traction as it did was because she described you to a T.”

–

_gracity_x posted under r/Paranormal_Acitivity:_

_**There was someone in my attic who disappeared.** _

Hi, I know the title is ambiguous, but it just happened and I’m !!!

_I heard someone laughing when I got home from school. It was quiet, and kind of indistinct, but my parents weren’t home and it freaked me out._

_I followed the sound, because what else was I going to do? I thought maybe it might have been a tv, but it wasn’t. I followed the sound upstairs to the attic. I went inside and saw a white guy with curly blond hair and blue eyes, wearing this weird uniform. He stopped laughing when he saw me and faded away, but I know I saw someone there!!_

_Edit: Some clarifications on this post._

_One: I didn’t think anyone had broken in, because all of the doors were locked and there were no open windows. I checked before I went upstairs. We also have an automatic security system that hadn’t been disabled when I came home. Two: the uniform was NOT a military outfit! It was kind of like a handyman outfit, with tools and a harness? But with dirty clothes. Three: I talked to my parents about this and we looked into the history of the house and apparently someone died who looked like the guy I described, which is super freaky. I won’t post his name, because I’d be doxxing myself, but I’ll update with any info later on if anything else happens!_

_–_

He stood in front of the windowsill, taking it in. Of all of the places in the attic, this was probably the cleanest place, hardly any dust on the sill itself. It was thick, and Ryan could easily picture someone sitting on it when they were relaxing. Threadbare lace curtains hung limply and Ryan was tempted to push them open to look out on the new neighborhood.

“Is anyone here?”

The static didn’t waver, but Ryan could have sworn he saw something move in the corner of his eye. He whipped around, looking across the boxes, but he didn’t see anything out of place. “What the fuck was that,” he muttered to himself, and blinked hard.

“Ernie, are you here? I want to talk to you.”

A shiver ran down his spine and he inhaled sharply, looking around him. “What the fuck? Okay, it’s fine, we’re fine. We’re fine.”

If he repeated it enough times, it would come true.

“Ernie, what happened to you? How did you die?”

A blip came through the spirit box, more distinct than before, but Ryan couldn’t make it out. He froze.

“Did someone kill you?” he asked, boldly, ( _stupidly, what are you doing?_ ), before the curtains swayed.

His eyes widened as his chest heaved, shaking hard as he tried to point the GoPro towards the window with steady hands. The window clearly wasn’t open, didn’t look like it had been opened in months, maybe even years. Well, maybe not years, but it was dusty and discolored, and Ryan felt like he couldn’t breathe, the air ledged in his throat, stuck, and unable to properly travel into his body.

He felt someone shuffle behind him, the floorboards creaking and he swung around, ready to yell at Shane for trying to start a bit, but–

No one was there.

He could feel a rush of cold breath brush against his skin and–

–

“Ryan?”

He stepped forward blankly, tremors making his body quake, a little too obviously. He didn’t say anything in response to Shane, instead staring at the camera pointed at him. The light was a bit too bright and hurt his eyes.

He wanted to go to sleep, but he knew he’d be riddled with nightmares of warm attics going still, of beating hearts failing, of knives cutting through rope. Blond hair, blue eyes, white skin going grey.

Shane led them through a hasty conclusion, before ducking his head down a little bit, making Ryan meet his eyes.

“Would it be alright if I touched you, now?” he asked quietly. Ryan noticed the crew putting away their equipment and remembered they were on a shoot.

He breathed in, and nodded. His fingers pried the GoPro and spirit box from his hands, handing them to Devon, before he started working on the equipment strapped to his chest, and head.

Ryan let it all happen in a blur, letting his mind go quiet for a few moments, just taking in the comfort of Shane’s presence. His fingers worked deftly, efficiently, and he remembered this was not the first time Shane had seen him like this. This was not the first time Shane had walked through these steps.

Before he knew it, they were in the car and Shane still held onto his hand, their pinky fingers hooked together. He didn’t remember this being a part of their routine, but he leaned closer to him, letting his head loll onto Shane’s shoulder. He didn’t dare close his eyes.

–

When they got back to their hotel for the night, Ryan hesitated to go back inside. He didn’t want to go inside. He didn’t want to go to his room, and take a shower, and get changed, and go on his phone, and watch television, and go to sleep. He couldn’t bear the idea of going to sleep.

Shane noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Do you want to go to a diner? I’m pretty sure Teej passed an all-nighter one on the way back.”

Ryan watched as Devon waved them goodnight, and Teej stepped into the lobby with his phone against his ear, murmuring quietly to someone. He sucked his lips into his mouth, before nodding. He didn’t really want to eat, but sitting in a diner at 4am with Shane just sounded.

It sounded good.

It sounded peaceful, and quiet, and Ryan wanted that. He wanted that with Shane.

Ryan blinked.

Since when had their relationship ever been peaceful or quiet?

He shook off the thought, and headed back to the car, letting Shane take the wheel and Bluetooth, a careful piano playing down the speakers.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Shane asked.

“No,” he said quickly. “Not– not yet.” They could talk about it tomorrow.

Shane nodded and a comfortable lull came between them.

The soft notes of the piano and the dull lights along the road were tranquil, letting the knots in his back slowly relax into the passenger seat. Shane’s hand was resting on the gear shift and Ryan had the urge to thread their fingers together.

So he did.

Shane glanced at their entwined fingers, before focusing back on the road. The fluorescents brushed across his skin, and Ryan could see his cheeks turning red. “Hand-holding with the homies?” Shane joked.

Ryan didn’t let him get off so easy. “Nah. Everyone knows what hand-holding really leads to.”

Shane clicked his tongue, shaking his head even as his lips upturned. “First you make eye contact, then you start handholding, then boom, you’re fucking away like bunnies. Are you trying to tell me something, Ry?”

“Maybe we can share a milkshake and I’ll let you in on a lil’ secret,” Ryan said instead, the joking air dying down as he looked at Shane. He felt safe, and content, and though the heavy burden of the undead rested in chest like a stone, Shane knew how to share the weight, unconsciously, but helping nonetheless.

Ryan wanted to kiss him.

–

The ride was quiet the rest of the way and when they made their way inside the restaurant, there was only a small group of people sitting in the far corner wearing the same uniform.

A waitress sat them down on the other side of the restaurant with menus and, before she could leave, Ryan asked, “Could I order a large strawberry milkshake with two straws?”

She raised her eyebrows at him, before saying a quick, “Sure. I’ll be right back with that.”

He smiled his thanks before glancing at Shane, who’s face went red again. Ryan’s smile widened.

“You have something you want to say, Ry?”

“Hm, maybe. I don’t have my milkshake yet.”

“I think that’s going to be _our_ milkshake in a second.”

“It’s always communism with you, isn’t it?”

“Excuse me, I believe in a healthy dose of social democracy, I’ll have you know.”

“I’m well aware,” he replied, and the milkshake slid in front of them both. Ryan startled and looked up. “Thanks!”

“No problem. Wave me down if you want anything else,” she said, and Ryan gave a thumbs up as he took the paper off of his straw, sticking it in.

He took a sip, hummed appreciatively, and slid the milkshake across to Shane.

As he took a sip, Ryan said, “I want to kiss you.”

Shane, predictably, choked.

Ryan, predictably, wheezed.

After he stopped hacking up a lung, Shane stared at him like he had three heads, a high blush on his cheeks. “Like… kissing the homies?”

He sounded legitimately confused and Ryan couldn’t believe it. “No, you fuc- you idiot, no. Like with feelings.” He sobered up and wanted to look away from Shane, but he was–

He was entranced.

“You make me feel safe. You’re– you’re so– I really care about you. And, you make me feel good. I was basically, like, catatonic, before, and you pulled me out. Had me laughing.”

“You would have gotten better on your own,” Shane said, a little meekly. He was glancing at his lips, Ryan noticed.

“I would’ve. But, you being there, I just. You just– I want you.” His cheeks heated and he covered his face with his hands. “This is the most awkward, highschool confession I’ve ever–”

Shane tapped his arm and Ryan peaked through his fingers at him.

He had this small, fond smile on his face and his eyes were bright. “I wouldn’t mind dating you, if that’s what you’re getting to.”

Ryan started nodding before Shane stopped talking. “That is exactly what I want. Yeah.”

Shane pulled his hands away from his face and, very tenderly, pulled them to his lips, kissing his knuckles.

Ryan wanted to swoon.

“That was so fucking smooth.”

Shane laughed, and the tension between the two broke, curling into their familiar back and forth.

“Thanks, I don’t do well with emotions, so actions have to speak louder than words.”

Ryan stared at him, before laughing, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

But from the way his fingers had gently ran over him when he was frozen with fear, carefully untucking the equipment and holding onto him when he was immobile and silent–

The way his hand lingered on the swell of his back and when he flicked his nose, or patted his cheek–

The way Shane leaned in over the table, cradling his face in his hands, before kissing him like he was something precious to behold–

Ryan knew.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> I had such a hard time figuring out what I wanted to write, but then this little idea popped into my head, with some help from your prompt list.
> 
> much love <3


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